Consequences
by Rubik Ace
Summary: Scout says and does things before he thinks. Medic deems it necessary to correct the unwanted behavior whenever he can. Rated M for language and sexual content.
1. Setting Boundaries

**All characters and other TF2 related stuff belong to Valve. **

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Scout grunted in discontent as he was shaken awake by a sudden air pocket that sent their plane plunging downwards for at least 70 feet. He had no idea how close to their destination they were, but judging by the dimmed lights they would have to sit tight for at least another hour. Heavy was snoring loudly in his seat and occasionally muttered something unintelligible, possibly in Russian. His head was bobbing up and down and from side to side as the plane was shaken by the rough weather of upper atmosphere. Soldier and Demoman were playing cards on a cargo crate, their voices uncharacteristically low and soft. The smoke from Soldier's cigar made the air hazy and thick, and Scout felt his lungs slightly protest to it. Engineer looked like he was going to throw up, which made Scout consider leaving his seat next to the Texan and go sit with Heavy. So far Engi had managed to keep his meals down during bumpy plane rides despite his tendency to get motion sick, but this time he looked way too nauseated for Scout to feel comfortable sitting near him. The Bostonian shot a gaze at Medic - who had seated himself next to Scout despite the runner's protests – and elbowed him to the side a bit harder than was necessary. The German yelped in surprise and almost bolted out of his seat.

"Geez, Doc, take it easy", Scout shrieked and held up his hands, ready to defend himself in case Medic would greet him with a bone saw. "Didn't mean ta startle ya."

The physician gave him a deadly glare and pulled his glasses out of the breast pocket of his coat. "I vas finally asleep. Vhat do you vant?" He wiped a smudge from the left lens into his sleeve and shoved the spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was thinking about ripping the Bostonian's guts out with his bare hands.

"Can't ya do sumthin' about the hardhat?" Scout asked and tilted his head to the general direction of Engineer, who was now breaking into cold sweat. "I don't want any second-hand waffles on my shoes."

Medic perked an eyebrow at this and leaned forwards to see how the tiny Texan was doing. "Are you alright, mein friend?"

"I'm alright", Engi muttered, his eyes shut tightly. "Jus' don't make me talk too much."

"See, he's fine", the Doctor grunted and leaned back, crossing his arms again and shutting his eyes. Scout knew this was his cue to shut up, but he couldn't let the German sleep and remain awake himself. He needed something to do now that he didn't feel sleepy anymore, and bugging Medic seemed to be the only option available; Engi would probably puke the second Scout kicked his shin, Soldier and Demo would snap his neck if he went and interrupted their game and Heavy would simply tear him apart limb by limb if the runner dared to bother him. Scout gazed at the Doctor from head to toes, wondering what he could do to make his attending physician turn into his attending opponent in a potential fistfight.

"I can feel you staring at me. Stop it."

The young runner ignored this, of course, and his eyes suddenly fixed on the German's signature forelock. It swayed slightly in the strong draft from the air conditioning, almost pleading Scout to poke it. He was like a kitten, fascinated by the idle movements of the strands of hair, and his eyes widened in exhilaration as he lifted up a bandaged hand, ready to destroy Medic's trademark hairdo. As the forelock swayed towards Scout one more time he smacked it as hard as he could. Medic was immediately wide awake again, flailing his hands as he tried to shoo the runner away. "Vhat ze hell is wrong vith you?!"

"Sorry, thought there was a roach on ya face. Sweet dreams."

The Doctor let out a long, irritated growl as he straightened his glasses and popped up the collar and lapels of his coat. He again crossed his arms and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall behind him. Scout found it hard to believe that Medic would lower his guard a second time so soon, especially now that he knew his seat-neighbor was up to no good. It was possible that the Bostonian would lose a few fingers if he even tried to touch the German again, thus Scout decided it was time for a different approach. "Hey Doc?"

No answer.

"Hey Doc, why d'ya look so tired?"

Still no answer, but Scout could see Medic's jaw muscles tense, like he was gritting his teeth. It wasn't much of a task to piss the German off since the two biggest pet peeves of his seemed to be other people and life in general. However, making him go postal was a lot more difficult, and that essentially was Scout's goal; the thought of Medic going apeshit and chasing him around the plane's interiors while breaking every object he could reach was absolutely hilarious. It was almost sad that due to his heavier build the German would not be able to catch him, but it was specifically the tragicomedy of it that amused the Bostonian immensely. The young loudmouth grinned to himself, trying not to snicker just yet. "Ya sure you're not gettin' too old?"

"You know perfectly vell zhat ze respawn system keeps us from physically-"

"I mean, how old are you anyway? Fifty something?"

Medic's eyes suddenly snapped open, his expression something in between of appalled and insulted. "I have not even turned-"

"Like, seriously, your hair's gettin' gray- "

"It vas already like zhis vhen ve got ze respawn system!"

"I joined dis team the same year the respawn was installed and I swear that dat", Scout poked the greyish hair sprouting on the Doctor's right temple, "wasn't there then."

Medic's hands were flailing in the air with increasing franticness now as he tried to stop the runner from poking his head. Scout could see the anger slowly building up in the German, and he couldn't wait for it to finally boil over. He was quite aware that their argument had caught the attention of Engineer, Soldier and Demoman, but he didn't mind being stared at; he was almost inappropriately proud of the fact that only he could rile Medic up like this. Of course the Doctor got on occasion ticked off by something and raised his voice at people or even destroyed innocent inanimate objects, but Scout was the only one who could switch him into 'murderous rage' mode in a matter of seconds. Medic was almost always in a constant state of sleep deprivation – paperwork didn't do itself and Medic was the only one who could be trusted with the task – and now that they had had to wake up at 2 a.m. to be flown only-God-knows-where for a robot-killing mission, he was absolutely exhausted. And Scout knew that denying someone their sleep was the best way to make them want to kill you.

What Scout either didn't know or didn't remember, however, was that pride always comes before a fall. He was absolutely flabbergasted as he suddenly found both his wrists tied to his own thigh with a red tie that had very swiftly appeared from Medic's pocket when the Bostonian had looked the other way. No matter how hard he struggled against the knot he couldn't free his hands, and Medic's malicious grin grew wider as he leaned back and watched.

"What the hell, Doc? You can't do dis!"

"I believe I just did", Medic chuckled. It was one of those low, throaty laughs he usually only used on the battlefield. "You need to learn zhat zhere are consequences to your actions."

"I was jus' fuckin' with ya", the runner cried out, a clear whine in his voice. "I won't do it again, jus' lemme go."

"Hmm. No, I don't zhink I vill."

"I can still kick ya, you know."

"Zhen perhaps I should restrain your legs too, ja? I packed quite a few extra ties."

"Aw c'mon, Doc, you wouldn't." If threatening didn't work, it was probably best to negotiate. "I promise I'll let ya sleep if ya untie my hands."

"Nix da."

"If ya don't, I'll jus' keep talkin'. Ya know ya can't sleep if I'm talkin'."

The Doctor leaned very close, his eyes narrowing in glee as Scout tried to get away from him. Unfortunately Engineer was still sitting right next to him, so there was nowhere to go. Medic's voice was dangerously smooth as he softly murmured: "A necktie makes an excellent gag, Junge. I suggest zhat you sit nicely for ze rest of ze flight, unless you vant me to demonstrate."

"Go fuck yourself, you Nazi prick."

"Maybe later." Medic didn't seem to be bothered at all that he had been called a Nazi, even though he usually detested it. Hell, he didn't even care that he had been told to go fuck himself. He had the upper hand and he knew it. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to sleep now. Gute Nacht."

A smile still lingered on the German's face as he yet again crossed his arms and closed his eyes, trying to get as comfortable as possible on the cushion-less seat of a cargo plane. Scout stared at him bitterly and tried to free his hands without much success. The knot was fairly simple but the tie was so tightly wrapped around Scout's wrists and thigh that he could barely move his hands, let alone free himself. Demo and Soldier had lost their interest in what was going on and returned to their game, and Engi still looked like he was going to throw up the second he opened his mouth. There was no way any of the three would help Scout open the knot, and it would have required a very bad case of the crazy to wake up Heavy. The Bostonian sighed in defeat and slumped against the back of his seat. It looked like Medic really had outsmarted him, and won.

However, there was something that bothered the youngest member of the team, and he was more apprehensive than curious. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to hear the answer, should he get one in the first place. "Hey Doc? How would _you_ know that a necktie makes a good gag?"

Medic's grin was almost terrifyingly mischievous.


	2. The Soapy Taste of Discipline

**I admit, this one relies very heavily on general suggestiveness and innuendo, but for my defense I must say that I was hopped up on way too much caffeine when I wrote this. I was even feeling hyper enough to take on the challenge to write this in Scout's POV. The Bostonian accent is a bitch to write and I'm still not entirely happy with it.  
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**Anyways, I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are always appreciated. **

**...I regret nothing.  
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The last scheduled battle of the week always ends on Friday at 1600. When I joined the team, the first thing I was taught 'bout the weekly routines was that every Friday we'd party. And there ain't no good reason not to. If we win the Friday's battle, it's an obvious reason to celebrate. If we lose... still a good reason to get ridiculously drunk an' beat the everliving crap outta each other when someone cheats in poker. It's a funny tradition though; first we act all civilized when we eat dinner together, an' only about two hours later someone yorks. Usually that someone is me. I really gotta learn my limits.

I always get the feeling that I'm not really being appreciated around here when I offer to help with the preparations. Snipes, Solly an' Demo ain't takin' me with 'em anymore to get booze from the town 'cause they say I talk too much. Engi, Mumbles and Heavy are always shooing me outta the kitchen, sayin' that I'd only break stuff and cause chaos. Okay, yeah, maybe I've broken a glass or two when I've helped 'em set the table, but it ain't my fault those things are fun to juggle. Too bad jugglin' ain't exactly on the top of my list of skills.

Even though I know I'll get a real cold welcome if I show my face in the kitchen, I can't help followin' the amazin' scent of Engi's cooking. He bein' from Texas an' shit, he knows how to make the perfect steaks. We're supposed to take turns in making dinner, but everyone always demands that Engi cooks on Fridays since he's pretty much the only one who knows how to. Heavy, Pyro and Medic can also produce a relatively decent meal but the rest of us... we have no frickin' clue. And Spy only cooks for himself so I can't really say nothin' about him. As soon as I pop my head in the kitchen Pyro lets out a real irritated "Mmmmph!" and draws Heavy an Engi's attention to me as well.

"The others back yet?" Engi asks, obviously tryin' to keep me from even suggesting that I'd help.

"Naw. They're prolly on their way by now, though."

"Better be. Ya go tell the Doc that dinner's almost ready."

"Aw, man", I whine. I've been avoidin' the crazy-ass Nazi ever since we got back from the latest robot mission. The bastard tied me up on the plane an' refused to lemme go until we landed. It was easily the most uncomfortable plane ride ever. "Can't someone else go?"

"Wait until Doktor hears that leetle Scout is afraid of him", Heavy says, smiling like a dumbass. Engi snorts a laugh and Pyro giggles inside his mask. I friggin' hate it when people laugh at me.

"I'm not afraid of the old asshat. I jus' like my guts where they are, thank you very much."

"He'd find your guts borin' should he ever get his hands on 'em. Now go."

I try to argue, I really do, but Heavy shoves me out of the kitchen and stays in the doorway to make sure that I actually head downstairs. I make sure to give him the finger, and even though it doesn't seem to have much of an effect on him, it at least makes me feel a bit better.

For some reason the infirmary is located at least partially underground in every base. In 2fort it's only practical since it's so damn hot in the desert, but here in Coldfront I really don't see the point. Maybe the guys in RED headquarters wanna freeze the Doc's balls off so he won't produce any more crazy bastards like him, I dunno. My point is, if the heaters down there break the whole infirmary's gonna become pretty much uninhabitable. I wouldn't mind if the Doc froze to death in his sleep, but I suppose we need someone to treat our chafes an' ingrown toenails. The door to the infirmary isn't locked, so I just march on in there and find the Nazi cleanin' his knife-thingies by the sink. He doesn't look too pleased to see me, but in all honesty I'm not pleased to see him either. He points one of those little knives at me. "Vhat have I told you about knocking on ze door?"

"I dunno, I never listen to yer rants."

He rolls his eyes at me and turns to the sink, setting down the knife to grab another one. It's all bloody an' disgustin' and I jus' wanna get the hell outta there before he jabs me in he stomach with it. "Listen, uh... Engi wanted me to tell ya that the dinner's almost ready."

"Vell zhat's too bad since I've still got equipment to clean." He stops what he's doin' and turns to me again, smirking like the creep he is. "But now zhat you are hier, you might as vell help me so zhat I vill be at ze dinner table on time."

I hold up both my hands, vigorously shakin' my head. "No way. No fuckin' way. I ain't touching those."

Medic sighs, real frustrated an' gettin' a bit angry. I don't feel comfortable makin' him angry when he's holdin' sharp objects. "You vouldn't have to touch ze dirty ones, Junge. All you vould do is dip ze clean ones into ze disinfectant and wipe zhem dry."

"Oh." That doesn't sound so bad, I suppose. I hesitantly walk to the sink, all the while waitin' for him to grab me and slice me open. He doesn't even look at me when he shoves a small towel in my hands, and I can't help feeling a bit insulted about that. Relieved, but a bit insulted. There's a bunch a those small knives waitin' on the draining board and I tentatively grab one of them, idly fiddlin' with it an' watching it reflect the bright lights of the infirmary. I bet it's sharp, but I restrain myself from testin' that theory.

"Get on vizh it, I vant to eat tonight as much as you do."

"Yeah, gotcha." I dip the knife into the glass jar full of alcohol-smelling clear liquid, but as I'm about to wipe it dry with the towel, Medic grabs me by the wrist and I accidentally let out a startled whimper. He doesn't gimme time to feel ashamed, though, an' I'm real happy 'bout that. "I didn't see you disinfect ze other end of ze scalpel."

Oh yeah. I didn't realize that I'd have to clean the whole thing an' not just the blade and half of the handle. As I tell him this he tuts, but doesn't look that angry anymore. I suppose he's in a good mood today.

"You are too sloppy, Junge. A little meticulousness never hurt anyone, ja?"

I just mumble somethin'. Hell, I don't even know what 'meticulousness' means. Medic knows too many fancy words. He seems to have a better vocabulary than the average English-speaker, an' English ain't even his first language. He's always slippin' back into German, yes, but I'm pretty sure he does it on purpose. I guess his English is good enough since he can afford to do that an' nobody gives a crap. I'd like to be fluent in multiple languages too, but I've never really been into studyin'. I bet Medic was a real nerd as a kid. It's really weird to think that even he's been young once, an' I get a bit lost in thought as I try to imagine it. I suppose I was being kinda quiet since the old asshat nudges my elbow with his, eyebrows raised real high. "It's not very like you to be zhis silent. Somezhing wrong?"

"Naw. Jus' thinkin'."

"Care to share?"

"Not really."

"Ach", he growls and hands me another knifey-thingy. "I don't understand vhy you are always so reluctant to converse vizh me."

My turn to roll my eyes at him."Maybe I jus' wanna keep some things to myself."

"I am bound by very strict professional confidentiality." This gets my attention, but I try not to look like I'm about to spill the beans. Medic huffs a halfhearted laugh and smirks at me. "Your secrets are safe vizh me."

The hell they are. Good thing I wasn't thinkin' anythin' personal. I set the knife down and cross my arms, tryin' to be kinda confrontational. This only seems to amuse him, though, an' he's real quick to imitate my gestures. Holy crap he looks huge when he does that. I immediately feel less confident, but it ain't like I'm gonna back down that easily. "What were you like as a kid?"

My blood starts boilin' the second the Nazi bastard bursts out in laughter. An' it's one of those low, throaty laughs again. I jus' hate how self-assured he get's every time he realizes he's got the upper hand. I'd punch him in the face if we weren't surrounded by all kinds of stuff he could flay me to ribbons with. Instead I jus' stare at him with this really pissed look on my face, waitin' for him to get his shit together again. My anger builds up even further as he starts talkin'.

"Vell aren't you being adorable today."

"Well aren't you bein' a prick today."

"You lack negotiation skills, Junge." I swear I'm gonna punch him any second now. "Vizh me, insults vill get you nowhere."

Yeah, I've kinda noticed. Always worth a try, though. "You gonna answer the question or not?"

"As a punishment for you being such a potty mouth I vill not." He's really enjoyin' this, I can see it. He was never gonna answer my question, but couldn't help makin' it a fuckin' game. I know he's just gonna laugh at me no matter what I do, so I just turn back to the sink and continue disinfectin' his damn knives. I guess I was kinda angrily throwin' them onto the worktop next to the draining board 'cause he grabs me by the wrist again, squeezin' real tight this time an' doesn't let go even though I try to pry his fingers open. He snatches the knife out of my already numbing hand and holds the blade real close to my face. I freeze immediately, afraid to make a move. Crap, he's prolly gonna gut me or somethin'. But no, he just smiles all creepy an' shit.

"If you start throwing my equipment around like zhat, I vill tie you up again. You didn't seem to like it ze last time, and I assure you zhat if need be I can make it even more unpleasant."

"Two words: fuck you."

"Vatch your language, Junge. Do I really need to vash your mouth out vizh soap?"

"I ain't watchin' shit just 'cause you tell me to."

I admit, sayin' that might not have been the smartest move right after he practically threatened to employ an awfully familiar childhood punishment on me, but I guess it's just in my nature to always push my luck a bit too far. I realize my mistake as Medic suddenly bends me over the sink, grabs my hair and starts to shove the nozzle of the soap bottle into my mouth. I grit my teeth as tightly as I can, makin' a mental note to bite if he even tries to pry my jaws open. I'm wrigglin' about like a damn eel tryin' to escape, but his grip on my hair just tightens an' it's really startin' to hurt, so I guess I'll have to stop movin'. It's gonna be a waiting game, and him an' I both know that I'm not exactly good at those. I glare at him from the corner of my eye and see him looming over me, grinnin' like he's already won. "Now, now, Bursche, ze sooner you open your mouth, ze sooner you can go and vash away ze taste vizh food."

A choked "nuh-uh" is all the sound I manage to produce with my mouth closed so tight. This is all getting' really weird really fast an' I'm not sure what to make of it. Medic's way too close for my liking, and I kid you not, I can feel his left hipbone press against my side as he get's fed up with playin' games and takes a hold of my throat, chokin' me until I open my mouth an' desperately try to get some air. Instead I get a mouthful of soap, and the fuckin' Nazi even keeps my jaws closed for good two minutes before lettin' go of me an' allowin' me to spit that shit out. I'm so dumbfounded that I can't even talk, I jus' stare at him with soap an' spit still dribblin' from my open mouth. Medic looks all pleased with himself, an' a bit out of breath for puttin' so much physical effort into he procedure. I feel kinda lightheaded an' drowsy from he lack of oxygen and wanna go lie down for a while, but I'm not sure my legs'll carry me all the way upstairs. But fuck, I'm all meek and quiet now, just kinda tryin' to pull myself together again but not really bein' able to. If Medic asked me to lick the dirt off his shoes I'd probably do it, jus' to avoid goin' through any more of his disciplinary actions. Where and how he's learned to do that so effectively, I don't wanna know, but hell if it ain't impressive. I guess I also vocalize that last though, for the old asshat chuckles and says: "I'm glad you agree."

"Can I go now?" My voice is all weird, kinda empty an' shaken. My neck's startin' to hurt real bad and there's prolly gonna be some serious bruises by tomorrow. I really wanna ask if he could heal it with the medigun, but I can't work up the courage. I just stand there, wipin' my mouth on the sleeve of my jumper.

"I suppose ve have done enough cleaning for one night, ja?" He places one of those gigantic hands of his between my shoulder blades and kinda guides me along as we leave for the kitchen. It feels almost nice an' comforting after bein' hurt, but I still feel like I should try to shake him off. Medic's so unpredictable an' it's scary how quickly he can go from bein' nice to bein' batshit crazy, and then back to nice again. He could just snap any second.

Snipes, Solly an' Demo have returned while I was stuck in the infirmary with the Nazi. They're already sitting at the table, shovin' food in their mouths, talking real loud an' laughin' with Engi and Heavy. Spy an' Pyro are nowhere to be seen, as per usual. I seat myself next to so Solly and pile so much food on my plate that I'm probably gonna explode once I'm done with it. Medic, the old jerk-off, makes sure to sit right across the table from me so that I can't escape his stare. I don't dare to look at him, but I can feel his eyes on my face. For what might be the very first time in the RED team's history I don't take any part in the conversation, jus' concentrate on eating as fast as I can so I can leave the table. The taste of soap is still pretty heavy in my mouth and it kinda ruins the amazin' steak Engi has cooked. My hands are shakin', an' of course Medic has to notice it. The old fucker makes damn sure to make me the laughing-stock of everyone there.

"Vould you believe vhat I had to do to Herr Scout?" The bastard broadcasts and suddenly everyone else is starin' at me as well. I give him the angriest glare I can, but he just smiles like the self-satisfied piece of shit he is. Everyone starts laughin' like a bunch of hyenas when he tells 'em, an' my face goes tomato-red.

I swear, one of these days I'm gonna turn off all the heaters in the infirmary an' leave his frozen corpse outside for the wolves.


	3. Fool Me Twice

**Moar general suggestiveness and/or creepiness. I think for the next chapter I'll start mixing things up a bit to make this more interesting, but right now I just want to crawl somewhere for a while and recover from the writer's block this one caused. Derp.**

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Saturday morning was, without a doubt, the most quiet time of the week in the RED base. At 9 a.m. almost everyone was still in bed, slowly succumbing to the nauseous misery known as a hangover. For Medic, this was the best opportunity to saunter to the kitchen, take his sweet time in making himself a cup of coffee and drink it on the worn-out sofa of their living room, simply listening to the silence and watching the snow fall behind the partially frozen windows. Apart from a little headache he never really suffered from any post-intoxication effects – mostly because his liver had had to train itself to handle very impressive amounts of alcohol a long time ago – and therefore was one of the very few of their team who were even half alive. From the group most used to heavy drinking he was definitely the only one who would willingly get up before 11. Sitting on the kitchen counter, rubbing his aching neck and listening to the rattle of the coffee machine the Doctor huffed a tired laugh as he recalled how ridiculously easy it had been to once more drink Scout under the table. Most of them had still felt relatively sober by the time Scout had been crawling on the floor and bumping into furniture on his way to the bathroom. Watching the boy trying to keep up with the others had definitely been amusing, if not slightly sad; their little runner only drank until he passed out because he wanted to fit in.

_Speaking of the devil_, Medic thought as he heard soft footsteps of bare feet coming from the hallway. He had learned to recognize his team by the sound of their walking, although so far this skill had not been in any way useful. He liked to think that perhaps one day he could spot the BLU Spy that way, but the Frenchman was obviously too professional to make such mistakes as not walking like the person he was disguised as. Scout's slender and currently hunched-over form appeared from around the corner, and his eyes were practically shut to prevent the bright light of the kitchen from making his head split even worse. Medic couldn't help sardonically smiling at this, evoking a very pained noise from the boy.

"Guten Morgen, Herr Scout. I see you aren't comatose anymore."

"Don't talk so loud, man."

The Doctor snorted a laugh. "Aww, does someone have a headache? I'm shocked."

"Ha-ha, yeah, you're real funny." The boy reached into the fridge for orange juice but stopped in mid-movement and frowned. "How're ya awake already? It's, like, 6 a.m. or somethin'."

"It's 9 o'clock, Junglein."

"Whatever."

The runner proceeded to grab the bottle of juice and set it onto the counter as he grabbed the cleanest-looking glass from the cupboard above the sink. His hands were shaking quite badly, Medic noticed, and the twitchiness resulted in multiple spills on the smooth surface of the counter even though Scout held himself by the wrist as he tilted the bottle. The painstakingly slow speed at which the liquid trickled into the glass gave the Doctor plenty of time to feel slightly sorry for the boy. It was funny how he couldn't remain spiteful this morning, even though Scout's discomfort was self-inflicted. "Vould you like me to pour it for you?"

"No", came the blunt answer. No surprises there. "I 'm hung over. It don't mean that I'm retarded or somethin'."

"I never suggested you vere." Medic's serene smile was countered by Scout's left middle finger. "But I see zhis is not ze time to reason vizh you."

The boy took his glass of orange juice and staggered past the Doctor without so much as giving him a glare. Medic's gaze traveled from the runner's back to the spilled juice on the kitchen counter, and he felt the twinge of irritation. Scout was such a slob – one of the worst in the team – whereas Medic was notoriously strict about the tidiness of the common areas. The physician lifted his chin, unable to completely hide his discontent. "Herr Scout. I believe you forgot something."

The sound of the runner's footsteps stopped, not far outside the kitchen doorway. "Naw, I'm pretty sure I remembered to give you the finger."

"Indeed you did, but zhat's not vhat I vas referring to." The tone of Medic's voice remained unchanged, which tricked Scout to return. The Bostonian poked his head into the room, although not quite trustful enough to cross the threshold. The physician snapped his fingers and demandingly pointed at the counter. "Clean it."

Scout deadpanned and turned to leave again. "No. I'm gonna go throw up."

"I don't care vhat kind of plans you've made for ze day, clean ze counter."

Scout's eyes narrowed in disbelief as he tilted his head to the side and marched over the threshold, staring at the Doctor who was still casually perched on the kitchen counter. Medic could see how much strength it took for the runner to straighten his posture and assume a confronting stance. It was simply and utterly adorable, and the German couldn't help smiling. The boy's pale cheeks reddened in anger when he realized he wasn't being taken in any way seriously.

"Right beside your ass there's a towel. If a few spots a juice bother ya so much, wipe 'em off yourself."

Medic uttered a harsh laugh. "You're not a child. Clean up after yourself."

"I'll clean it once I feel a bit less like crap", Scout pouted. "In the meanwhile you'll jus' have to live with it."

Medic slid down from the counter top and handed the towel to Scout, who refused to take it from him. Such a child. A menacing smile spread onto the German's face as he tried to contain the sudden fit of malice that warmed his chest like the cheap liquor the previous night. At best Scout was an annoying little critter, but that was something Medic could tolerate at small amounts. Intentional attempts at making him angry, however, usually worked but also ended badly for the Bostonian.

"I vill give you a choice. Eizher you use ze towel or you lick up ze juice. Don't zhink for a second zhat I von't make you do ze latter if I have to."

The German knew that giving Scout a choice made absolutely no difference, for the boy was so unbelievably stubborn that he would never do what he was told, even if it meant having to go through something a lot more unpleasant instead. Medic didn't mind employing punishments on the runner, though, and he tended to believe that positive reinforcement would do no good in such a spoiled brat. He understood that instead of 'the greater good' or some other noble principle, his own personal agendas played a much bigger role in his willingness to assume the role of a disciplinarian, but he enjoyed it way too much to feel like he was being unfair. The physician watched with interest as the boy went from defiant to apprehensive, and then back to defiant again in less than five seconds.

"I dunno what kinda kick you'd get outta doin' that, but if ya think that I'm afraid a you, you're wrong." Scout set his glass of juice on the table and crossed his arms. "You ain't nothin' but an old nitpicking Nazi son of a-"

Medic suspected that Scout was in no way surprised to find himself face-planting into the little puddle of juice on he kitchen counter. _One could even say he was begging for this_, the German mused and dug his nails into the back of the runner's neck as he forcibly held the boy still. Scout was squirming and making lovely, high-pitched noises of discomfort, but his demeanor lacked some of its usual spirit. No doubt a result of the hangover, but to Medic it was slightly disappointing. The Bostonian managed to turn his head to the side and give the physician a slighly distressed look. "You're hurting me, you bastard."

Medic only acknowledged this with a soft chuckle. He found it amusing how persistently the boy tried to insult him, even when in no position to say a damn thing. "Zhis is a strange déjà vu is it not?" The German's voice was just a low hiss, whispered right into Scout's ear. "It's almost like I had to do somezhing like zhis to you only a few veeks ago."

"Get offa me, man, I'm gonna throw up."

"Clean up your mess like a good boy and you can go", Medic growled and grabbed Scout by the wrist before the runner could punch him in the groin. "Did you not pay attention?"

Scout let out a very displeased mewl and squeezed his eyes shut before relaxing his slender body and hesitantly opening his mouth. Medic's eyes widened in exhilaration as he watched the boy's pink tongue push out of the adorably pouting mouth and tentatively taste the spilled juice on the cool surface of the counter. Holding the little runner's neck so tightly wasn't necessary now that he was cooperating, and as a reward Medic loosened his grip. Scout let out an appreciative noise and gazed at the German from the corner of his eye. He was so angry he was trembling under Medic's touch. The Doctor grinned at this and raked the runner's heartbreakingly cute, messy hair with his fingers.

"No need to look so glum. It's not zhat bad."

"You're a sick fuck, ya know that?"

Medic wasn't taken aback by the slightest. "One of my more attractive features, isn't it?"

"Sure", the boy chortled. "Keep tellin' yourself that."

Medic let out a laugh and shook his head. The boy was running out of slurs. How disappointing. He was apparently feeling a lot worse than he let on if he couldn't figure out anything but half-assed comebacks.

"Finish up Junge, I haven't got all day."

Scout swatted the German's hand off his slender neck before complying. Medic watched with interest as the boy licked the counter clean with furious precision and swiftness. _Apparently he isn't such a slow learner after all_, the physician thought, idly fiddling with the kitchen towel the boy had so strictly refused. Scout had been given a choice and a fair warning, and had still decided not to do what he was told. Whether it had been simple thoughtlessness or a calculated provocation was unclear, but Medic was by default inclined to believe it was the latter. Scout raised his head and pointed at the counter top, still as pouty and defiant as always. Medic raised an eyebrow and let out a soft growl of approval. "I knew you had it in you."

Scout's only response was an indignant grunt. The right side of his face was dripping orange droplets on his shoulder and neck, and Medic couldn't help but to cup the boy's chin and begin wiping him clean with the kitchen towel. The runner wrinkled his nose at the gesture but didn't resist. He was so uncharacteristically meek and quiet now, but the Doctor enjoyed seeing him like this; it took some effort to make the boy submit, but once he did it was most certainly worth it. Scout gave the German a bitter and humiliated look as the man ran the kitchen towel along the side of the runner's face and neck one more time.

"Why you always gotta bully me?"

"If I vanted to bully you, I vould replace your clothes vizh a tutu vhile you are taking a shower. Zhis, however", Medic explained, "is me teaching you some manners."

"Whatever", Scout snapped and pushed the German away, grabbing the glass of juice from the kitchen counter. "I'm gonna go now, and you can go fuck yoursef. How's dat?"

It was expected that the boy would simply march off without giving him time to reply with any more smartassery, and Medic let it be that way. He listened the sound of footsteps disappear into the hallway and contently crossed his arms with a wolfish smile lingering on his face. Nothing annoyed him so much as people who turned their backs at him in a middle of a some sort of confrontation, but he was quite certain that very soon Scout would return with an all new will to argue. It didn't matter if 'very soon' meant a few hours in this particular context, for the Doctor had the sufficient patience. He opened his fist and studied the pair of dogtags resting on the palm of his hand with earnest curiosity in his eyes. It was interesting – and highly amusing – that Scout hadn't noticed when he had opened the clasp of the chain and slipped the tags off the runner's neck while he had been wiping the boy's face. Medic let out a pleased growl and dropped the dogtags into his pocket.

And now he would wait.


	4. Disagreement Escalation

**Just a little heads up everyone: if you don't want to read smut, then you probably shouldn't read this chapter. Just saying. But you can of course do whatever you want. Just don't come whining at me when you feel weird afterwards. **

**Anyways; I want to thank everyone for the follows, faves and reviews. They are the biggest reason I've been feeling so inspired lately and am uploading a new chapter so soon after the last one. Enjoy the results of my latest caffeine overdose~ ...I apologize in advance.**

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Since I haven't noticed any abnormal thickening of Scout's skull in all the x-rays I've taken of his head, I'm forced to assume that he simply ignores my repeated requests to knock before barging into my office. Now he's standing in front of my desk, shifting his weight from one feet to another and whining about a headache after nonchalantly walking in despite my office door being closed. I would very much like to flare up and at least raise my voice at him – even my patience has its limits – but I don't want to end our new tradition of crime and punishment yet. I find it very interesting that even though I've tied him up with a necktie, washed his mouth out with soap using way more violence than was necessary, made him lick orange juice off the kitchen counter just for my amusement and hid his dog tags in the big nest of spiders up in the attic, he still hasn't learned not to deliberately get on my nerves. He knows very well how much it irritates me when people lack all kind of politeness, and still he dares to walk in without so much as knocking on the door, expecting me to drop everything I'm doing and go find painkillers for a mere headache just out of the goodness of my heart? The boy can't stop surprising me with the extent of his self-centeredness.

Forcing a smile on my face is easy – I have to do it multiple times a day, after all – but keeping myself from completely lashing out takes a lot of the self-control I don't have anymore at this hour. I slowly rise from my chair and with care and precision set my pen down, aligning it with the edge of the folder I had been studying for the past twenty minutes before I was so rudely interrupted.

"Follow me, bitte."

For once he does what I say and follows me as I cross the room to the door that is still open from the American loudmouth's sudden and unwanted arrival. I have no intention to actually do his bidding, obviously, but I decide to let him believe that he's won, just for a moment. Until I slam the door shut in front of myself and shove the boy against it, of course. He immediately lets out a startled wail and tries to elbow me in the face, but I crush his body with my own and hold him there, waiting for his fighting to die down. A malicious smile spreads across my face as the runner claws at the wooden surface of the door with frantic desperation, and I can't help enjoying the feeling of his slender form pushing against me. His movements come to a complete halt, however, as I rather impatiently shove my knee between his legs, not quite hurting him but definitely giving him the necessary motivation to quit his squirming. I can smell his shampoo as I lean in as close as I can without kissing his ear in the process, and after a deep inhale my voice rises from my throat as a low and rough growl.

"Zhis is a door. Vhat have I told you to do if you encounter one of zhem down here?"

Scout is completely motionless now, and I'm fairly certain that he's beginning to realize that the entire length of his body is pressed against mine. I'm not sure if the shiver that runs through the boy's body is one of fear or sexual appreciation, but I can feel it so clearly against my chest that it's almost like I'm the one shivering.

"Doc, what the hell?" He asks, trying to turn his head to look at me but stopping again as my forehead touches his temple. I watch, intrigued, as he swallows nervously and his Adam's apple bobs up and down, beckoning me to turn the little Schweinehund around and close my teeth around his throat.

"I vant you to understand once and for all zhat you have no business marching into my office vizhout knocking", I hiss and slide a hand down Scout's side, forcing his back to arch and earning a little whining noise from him. "If zhis is ze reaction you have been hoping to get out of me by intentionally disobeying me, zhen congratulations. I hope you like ze taste of door because I intend to feed you zhis one if you don't start developing some manners."

Scout gives me a hasty nod and bites his bottom lip. A deep red tint has crept onto his cheeks and I can almost see his pulse fluttering on the base of his neck. I'm not sure if he even can produce any intelligible speech in a state of mind like this, but I ask him anyway whether he understood what I just said to him. He nods again, taking in a shaky breath as my hand moves back onto his shoulder blade in a smooth and fluid motion, only applying enough pressure to discourage any attempt to injure me. The boy seems to be completely frozen in place, though, so I suppose I can relinquish my hold of him without putting my health at risk. I admit, I'm slightly reluctant to tear myself away from him, but I want to give him the option of turning around to face me and possibly amuse me with his delightfully recursive insults. Surprisingly enough he does neither, and he simply glances at me over his shoulder with apprehension lingering on his features. I'm uncertain whether he has actually submitted to me this quickly or if he's putting up a show to fool me into letting him go quicker, but I know I have a few ways to find out. To increase the effect of my gesture I completely avoid touching him as I support my weight against the door with my hands and lean in, exhaling hot air onto the back of his neck and softly murmuring: "Is zhere a problem, Junge?"

He almost jumps at this and a whimper escapes his mouth as he shifts nervously. Now I'm torn between exhilaration and utter disbelief; he has the perfect opportunity to elbow me in the diaphragm or turn around and headbutt me in the face, but he just stands there and squirms either in fear or discomfort. But I have some more tricks in store that will most certainly snap him out of his state of shock and make him defy me again, so I can establish my dominance once more. I open my mouth – barely able to resist pushing out my tongue to taste him – and bite down on his neck with bruising force. Scout cries out in pain and keeps wailing as I slowly twist my head to the side, my canine teeth almost puncturing his perfectly smooth and delicious skin. But he still doesn't move an inch. I'm notice myself getting furious as his screech dies down; I want him to fight me, to give me a reason to bash his head through the door for disobeying me, but I get absolutely nothing. I release his neck and snarl into his ear: "I order you to fight me, Junge. Strike me or ze next time I bite you, it vill crush your windpipe."

I would never kill him, of course, as it would put and end to the game the boy has chosen to play with me. Scout doesn't know this, though, and still he doesn't even make an attempt to hurt me. He shoots a gaze at me from the corner of his eye, panting like he's just ran three miles. I'm not even that angry anymore; that emotion has been replaced with complete confusion. Until I come to a realization that forces a wolfish grin on my face. I place my hand on the runner's side and slowly snake it down along the faint outlines of his abdominal muscles, all the way to the waistband of his uniform pants. I hear his breath get caught in his throat, and I take it as a permission to proceed and brush the palm of my hand across the front of his pants. I rough, barking laugh escapes my throat as I feel the outlines of his erection and elicit a shuddering gasp from him.

"Vell zhen", I chuckle and swiftly open his belt with one hand, pulling it out of the belt loops and tossing it somewhere on the floor. "I must say, you surprise me time after another, Junglein. But don't get me wrong; I'm certainly not disappointed."

I admit, I'm getting quite the kick out of this now. I gently nip his earlobe as I open the button and zipper of his pants, earning a quiet moan from him. Scout's biting his lip, I notice, probably to keep himself from getting too loud. I would prefer if he didn't do that; after all, I have seen how noisy the boy always is, and I would very much like to see exactly how loud he can get when encouraged a little.

"Make all ze noise you vant", I growl and unceremoniously tug his pants down. "Zhere's no need to hold it back."

He complies and lets out a slightly louder whimper as I slip a hand into his boxers and grasp his hardened member, smearing precome along his slit with my thumb. His fingers wrap around the wrist of my other hand that's still supporting my weight, and his nails dig into my skin as I slide down his boxers as well, gently trailing the curve of his right buttock. I feel slightly lightheaded as my blood suddenly rushes to my own groin, and I hear a soft grunt escape me as Scout arches his back, his hips very provokingly pushing against me. I close my hand around his cock again and begin jacking him as agonizingly slowly as my weakening self-control allows me. I have been very arrogant in thinking that I could affect Scout without him having an effect on me, but I realize my mistake now. The boy reaches his free hand and digs his nails on my thigh, pulling me even more tightly against him and trapping my own awakening member between us, forcing another groan out of me. Scout responds with a soft, desperate noise that rises in his throat and hisses through his clenched teeth as I twist ever so gently as I tug his cock and slather it with even more precome that's practically dripping on my hand. The runner turns his head and gives me a hazy look through his eyelashes.

"Could I... please turn around to face you?" He asks and the red tint on his cheeks intensifies again. I'm not sure I have the energy to give him the affection he seems to want from me, but who am I to deny him the right to see the frenzied look in my eyes that is the result of his reciprocation? I flip Scout around and he almost stumbles, but I manage to catch him and secure his slender body against the door again. I give him the moment he needs in order to catch his breath, and for a while he simply stares at me, looking almost startled. It occurs to me that since I'm the one who started this, it's up to me to decide how far this is going to go, and although I would very much like to pick him up and mindlessly fuck him right there, I have to acknowledge the fact that not giving Scout everything at once is the best way to make him come back to me for more. He digs his stubby fingernails on my shoulders this time and desperately thrusts into my hand, letting out an impatient, high-pitched mewl. The runner tilts his head back, offering his neck for me, but I refuse it and claim his mouth instead, forcing my tongue past his lips and teeth. This seems to please him, and I gladly drink down his desperate moans as I jack him harder, urging him to come. He doesn't allow me to indulge in the kiss for long, though, for he soon breaks it off and buries his face on my shoulder, drowning a very loud open-mouthed wail into my shirt as he peaks slightly sooner than I had intended, and leaves semen dripping down my hand and onto the leg of my uniform pants. I give him a few slow strokes before retreating, and watch blissful relief spread across his face as he leans his head on the door and sucks in frantic breaths. I want to tease him a bit about his lack of stamina, but I suppose I can let it go for now; I can mock him whenever I want and doing it right now would only shatter his self-esteem.

"What about you?" He suddenly asks and bites his lip again. I can't help smiling at this, and although my own agonizing hard-on could definitely use some attention as well, I'm not going to make demands.

"You don't need to repay ze favor unless you're certain zhat you vant to", I say, my voice thick and husky even though I'm trying to clear my throat. I then bark a short laugh and raise an eyebrow. "But I von't lie and say zhat I vouldn't appreciate it."

Scout smiles shyly and lets his hands drop from my shoulders, slowly feeling his way down my chest and stomach. He certainly takes his sweet time doing this, and as he finally reaches my belt I let out a slightly impatient growl and unbuckle it myself, getting increasingly desperate for release. It had definitely not been my intention to allow myself to get this aroused, but I suppose I'm just a human like anyone else. The runner slips a hand down my pants and tentatively grasps my cock, gently coaxing me to switch places with him and in turn have my back against the door. I allow this – might as well humor him for a while – and lean against the wooden surface, watching as the boy releases my throbbing erection from its imprisonment inside my pants. I'm expecting to get a quick handjob but once again Scout surprises me and drops down onto his knees in front of me and licks his lips.

"I ain't done this before but I'm pretty sure I can handle it", he says and gazes at me, smirking as he notices that my jaw has dropped slightly and I'm now staring at him with my eyes wide in disbelief. I want to tell him that he doesn't have to do this, but he doesn't give me enough time to get my voice box working again, for he's already licking me and coating my entire length in saliva. I tilt my head back and grasp a fistful of the Bostonian's hair, hearing myself grunt very low in my throat as Scout takes me as far in his mouth as he can without gagging and what he can't fit in there he works with his hand. His teeth accidentally graze me a few times, but I forgive him for now and try to stay as still as possible to make this a bit easier for him, even though I would like to thrust all the way into his throat instead. I'm probably being a bit loud, but since all rational thought has escaped me I can't really keep track of what I'm doing. Scout has seemed to get the hang of it and now quickens his pace, in turn urging me to spill into his mouth. I try to hold back just for a while longer, but my self-control collapses on itself as my own orgasm defeats it, and the jolts of pleasure shoot through my spine like electricity. Scout gags a bit as his mouth is filled with my come, but he takes it all and waits patiently for me to recover sufficiently before retreating. As I'm still trying to catch my breath I can't help noticing that he hasn't swallowed and appears to have slight difficulties in doing so. I dig into my pocket and hand him a handkerchief.

"Spit. You've vaited too long to be able to do it anymore."

He seems glad to comply, and as I'm pulling my pants back up he looks at me and shyly thanks me.

"No problem", I soothe him. "It vould have been unfair of me to expect you to do it."

Scout looks a bit embarrassed as he stumbles on his feet and zips his pants as well, wiping his mouth on his arm when he thinks I'm not looking. This brings a smile on my face, but as he raises his gaze I pretend I didn't notice to save him from further humiliation. I don't feel awkward very often, but this is certainly one of those moments that make me squirm in discomfort. It escapes me how my disciplinary action led to whatever just happened, but I'm definitely not complaining. I admit that perhaps my way of handling things might have had a slightly more sexual undertone than I had originally intended, and at least now I have confirmation that Scout finds me at least somewhat desirable. The boy purses his lips and awkwardly gestures at the door.

"I think I should prolly go get, ya know, cleaned up an' shit."

"Yes", I'm quick to say, "I zhink I should consider doing zhat as well."

I move out of his way, and as he opens the door he turns around and points at the leg of my pants, blushing furiously. "Ya might wanna wash those."

"I shall."

Scout slips though the doorway and pulls the door shut behind him and leaves me standing there like a Dummopf. I'm starting to feel a bit sleepy as the sweet afterglow begins to set in – an unfortunate trait of mine – and I decide to give up on my paperwork for the night. I saunter to my personal quarters, leaving a trail of clothes behind me, and step into my shower. A grin spreads across my features as I make a mental note to do everything in my power to tease Scout during the following days, and drive him crazy with an occasional low whisper in his ear and a few quick touches that will make him sufficiently uneasy that he eventually crawls back to me on his own initiative.

I'm only getting started with him, after all.


End file.
